


Late Night Library Date Night

by ThebanSacredBand



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Libraries, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:40:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21761596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThebanSacredBand/pseuds/ThebanSacredBand
Summary: Enjolras and Combeferre meet reaching for the same book on the first Friday of term. It becomes a habit.
Relationships: Combeferre/Enjolras (Les Misérables)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28
Collections: Les Mis Holiday Exchange (2019)





	Late Night Library Date Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nightreverie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightreverie/gifts).



The first time they meet, it is 8pm on Friday and they’re both reaching for the same book.

Well, no, that’s not strictly true. The first time they meet is in a 9am lecture five days beforehand, on the first Monday of term, trying to make notes about course structure and assignments while squashed in with far too many people. Enjolras is barely aware of the man sat next to him, other than that he’s left handed and keeps smashing him with his elbow.

But the first time they _really_ meet, in that they interact, is little under a week after that, when they both reach for a book on Napoleon’s empire and its legacy for that same Monday 9am class.

Enjolras has been scanning the shelves for the book – it’s not that the shelving system doesn’t make sense, it’s just that he’s not quite used to it yet – and he’s shocked that there is another hand pulling it out at the same time as him. He hadn’t even noticed anyone else in the aisle until this moment.

They stand up together, both holding the book, and Enjolras looks from the dark hand clasping the book, up the arm covered by a pale blue sweater, and up and _up_ to dark eyes framed with glasses, widened in a way that makes Enjolras certain that this man is as surprised as Enjolras is.

He feels like he’s seen him somewhere before, and it takes a few seconds before it hits him, because of _course_ he’s in that class, that’s why they’re looking for the same book.

The taller man lets go of the book, gesturing vaguely between Enjolras and the book and stepping away.

“Wait!” Enjolras says, before pressing his hands over his mouth, feeling his eyes widen. He is altogether too loud in the quiet of the library. He glances around, but no-one has peered around the shelves to glare at him for disturbing the peace. Then again, it _is_ a Friday night, and from the way the people he lives with have been acting it’s apparently not really the ‘cool’ place to be.

The taller man – Book Guy, Enjolras’ brain supplies as a fill-in for his unknown name – is still there, his head cocked to one side, half smiling at him. Enjolras gestures between the two of them, to the book, and then towards the seating. He hopes that Book Guy can understand what he’s trying to say even without his words.

Fortunately, he does, following Enjolras towards an empty pair of seats – who is he kidding, they’re all empty, it’s the first Friday of term – and they place the book between them.

It works surprisingly well – they seem to read and take notes on pages at roughly the same pace – and they stay there until midnight, when Book Guy stands up, stretches, and waves goodbye before walking towards the door.

Enjolras stays another two hours. For some reason, he can’t help but hope he sees Book Guy again.

He does see him again, the following Friday at about the same time, in fact. This time he is already sat down with the book he wants, absorbed in making notes, and he half jumps out of his skin when the chair next to him is pulled out.

He looks up – and up, this man really is far too tall – to find Book Guy smiling down at him. He has a book in his hands, so they don’t need to share this time, but it’s nice to have company all the same. It feels like a friendship, in spite of the lack of actually knowing each-other. And it’s been a hard few weeks. Enjolras had thought he’d find many like-minded people at university, people who cared about learning, who wanted to make a difference in the world. Instead, he’d found it hard to meet anyone other than the people living on the same corridor as him, whose idea of what was important was where and when Happy Hour was.

So it’s a really great feeling, having someone happy to see him who clearly had the same passion for learning that he did. Maybe if they spoke, he’d find in Book Guy a firm friend.

They read together for several hours again, and once again, Book Guy leaves at midnight, and Enjolras wishes he had built up the nerve to at least ask his name.

They fall into some sort of routine, meeting in the library on Friday evenings and reading in tandem. They never share a book again, but they end up sharing their thoughts on the books they’re reading, holding out their books to point out quotes, short notes on post-its shouting about how angry they are about what the author is saying.

It makes it hurt all the more when, one night at the end of October, Book Guy doesn’t show up. It hurts more than Enjolras thought it would. More than it really _should_. He barely knows the guy, and he has met some people outside of Book Guy that he likes spending time with. But it feels like rejection.

He finds it hard to concentrate, the empty chair besides him a tangible weight at his side. His book is left mostly unread, his head darting up every time he hears one of the few other people haunting the library on a Friday night make any sort of noise.

He stays until midnight, though. But when he doesn’t turn up by then, he gives up. It’s not like he’s getting any work done, and there’s no way book guy will turn up now.

It’s colder outside than Enjolras expects it to be. He pulls his read coat around himself, and tries not to cry. It’s stupid. He’s not _sad_. If anything, he’s frustrated with his own distraction. That’s all it is.

He’s jostled by a figure draped in a white cloak, and it suddenly hits him. It’s Halloween. Book Guy is probably busy with his friends, and it’s so selfish of Enjolras to wish he was here instead. He scrubs at his eyes.

“Hey! Hey!” A voice shouts behind him, but Enjolras doesn’t turn around. Why would he? There are plenty of people around. “Hey! Ah, library guy! Blondie!”

Enjolras turns at that, it’s the sort of thing people tend to shout at him when they don’t know his name. To his surprise, finds Book Guy, running towards him, dressed in a tight-fitting superman costume, which startles a laugh out of Enjolras before he knows what he’s doing.

He pulls to a stop in front of Enjolras, cape fluttering in the cool night air. He opens his mouth, as if to speak, but instead gasps in air. Once he has regained his breath, he does speak. It is the first time Enjolras has heard his voice at full volume. It’s deeper than he expected, sending a shiver down his spine that he decides not to deal with right.

“Ok, so, first of all, I’m so sorry, that was really rude, I just needed to get your attention and I, uh, still don’t know your name. So, I’m Combeferre.”

Enjolras blinks. “I’m Enjolras?” he offers, shaking the hand that Combeferre holds out to him.

“It’s nice to be properly introduced, Enjolras. I wanted to apologise for not coming to the library tonight.” He looked down, his cheeks starting to redden a little. “I know it’s not, like, a formal arrangement or anything, so this might seem a bit weird, but I felt bad for not letting you know?”

Enjolras couldn’t help but grin. It wasn’t just him who found their late-night library meetings so special. Book guy – Combeferre – was equally as invested.

“It’s, wow, thanks for telling me.” He paused for a few seconds, then abruptly made a decision, pulling out his phone and holding it out to Combeferre. “Here, give me your number. Then we can let each-other know if plans need to change. And, um, maybe talk a bit outside the library?”

Combeferre raises an eyebrow like a love interest in a young adult novel. “Well, we can hardly talk _inside_ the library, can we?” he says, but he takes the phone anyway, and returns it to Enjolras heavier one phone number.

With names for faces, and numbers saved in phones, communication between Enjolras and Combeferre, unsurprisingly, increased.

Enjolras isn’t normally timid in conversations, and texting Combeferre is no exception. Well, Combeferre is almost an exception. Enjolras’ fingers still against his phone screen as he thinks about the possibility of never studying with Combeferre on a Friday night again, and he almost deletes the rant he is about to send about the intrinsic racism in the article they have to read by next class.

He does send it, though, because he doesn’t want to be friends with the sort of person who disagrees with him on this. And, more importantly, though he would never admit it, he wants to make sure Combeferre knows _him_ , and what he is like and _who_ he is. He wants Combeferre to _like_ him.

As it turns out, he doesn’t need to worry about it. Combeferre is quick to reply with an agreements and expansion of his points, and their conversations only spring further into life, with longer messages and recommended further reading, and soon Enjolras has to be careful that he takes the time to study for his other classes, and not solely focus on the time he spends with Combeferre.

It’s a struggle to keep the grin off his face each Friday night, when he finds Combeferre waiting in their usual seats, or when he is sat and finds Combeferre approaching him. Their ‘usual’ seats have migrated to a group study area that is unused at this time of night, allowing their texted conversations to become verbal, albeit whispered.

Without conferring about it, they start to arrive earlier, and when Combeferre leaves – never later than midnight – Enjolras finds himself packing up too, and they walk out into the ever-colder winter nights together, back towards they dorms as far as possible before they have to split.

Enjolras meets Combeferre’s flatmates, who he gets along with much easier than he does his own. Courfeyrac especially feels like a limb he did not realise they were missing.

Together the three of them start up a society standing for the marginalised and suffering, and their numbers grows, and they start to feel like they are really making a difference. They push through a Christmas food drive and protest and raise money, and the group become a sort of family. Enjolras often finds himself in a café with Bossuet and Joly, or walking through a park with Feuilly, or shopping with Jehan or Bahorel, or debating amicably with Grantaire.

And, through it all, Friday nights at the library remains the same. A time for just the two of them.

“Oh man, I’m never going to finish at this rate,” says Courfeyrac one Friday, deadline season fast approaching lying across the sofa as Enjolras sits at his friends’ kitchen table, each attempting to complete coursework. “Maybe I’ll join you guys in the library tonight”

Enjolras doesn’t respond. His mind is too busy turning over what Courfeyrac has said to even think about replying. He loves Courfeyrac, he enjoys spending time with him, even likes studying with him. But Friday nights… Friday nights were for him and Combeferre.

“Enj? Are you ok? Did I break you?” Enjolras shakes his head, dispelling the image of himself and Combeferre having a dedicated time just for the two of them from his mind.

“What? No! No, it’s fine.” Courfeyrac looks at him weirdly. Enjolras tries to avoid the stare by taking a sip of his rapidly-cooling coffee.

“I was just kidding, Enj. Like I’m going to disturb date night.” And maybe drinking was a bad idea, because now there is cold coffee spraying across the room, like some sort of disgusting sprinkler system straight from Enjolras’ mouth.

“Date night? Da- I don’t. What are you talking about?” Alarms are blaring in Enjolras’ head and he’s _never_ this ineloquent. But. Date night? What?

“Riiiight.” Courfeyrac doesn’t sound convinced. “Whatever you say man.”

Courfeyrac wiggles his eyebrows at Enjolras when he leaves later.

Enjolras doesn’t mention any of it to Combeferre.

The library meet ups (dates?!) continue. In the space between them, when Enjolras is alone at night, he agonises over it. Are they dates? Does Combeferre think they’re dates? How does this colour every interaction they’ve ever had?

When they’re there, though, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t think about any of it. It’s him and Combeferre and the books and the library. That’s the whole world.

The conclusion he comes to, after weeks of twisting and turning and struggling to sleep, is that they might be dates. And that he should probably talk to Combeferre about whether or not they are dates.

And that he wouldn’t mind if they were dates.

When Enjolras comes to that final realisation, it’s a bit of a shock to the system. Sure, he knew Combeferre was attractive – he has _eyes_ – but he hadn’t realised he was attracted _to_ him. He’s not sure he’d ever been attracted _to_ anyone before.

Now he’s realised this, it’s all he can think about.

He needs to talk to Combeferre.

He’s really not sure he wants to talk to Combeferre.

Enjolras is many things. It seems like a coward in love is one of them.

It’s the first week of exams and Enjolras is stressed and he _knows_ he knows this but if he doesn’t revise it again and again then it’s his fault if he blanks in the exam. He looks at the time in the corner of his laptop, and swears. He’s supposed to be meeting Combeferre in the library. It’s Friday. He can’t miss it.

He stands up abruptly. Looks around. He’s already in the library. Of course he is. He’s been studying all day. He can barely remember the last time he left the library. He looks back at his laptop. He can wait for Combeferre here. It’s good, it’ll mean he’ll get more work done.

He doesn’t know how long it is before Combeferre appears. He doesn’t know how long Combeferre’s been standing there before he notices, but given the sharply raised eyebrow it might have been a while.

Instead of sitting down in his usual seat, which Enjolras seems to have remembered to throw a jacket over at some time, he reaches down and shuts Enjolras’ laptop. Enjolras starts to protest, but Combeferre makes a shushing gesture. After all, the library is much more populated at this time of year than it was all those months ago when they first met.

Before Enjolras is really aware of what is going on, all his stuff is packed away and Combeferre has pulled him up and is leading him out of the library, hand in hand.

Combeferre only stops when they reach the not-so-cold May night air, but he still doesn’t let go of Enjolras’ hand. No, he reaches up with his other hand to gently cup Enjolras’ face, staring straight into his eyes with concern etched behind his own.

“When did you last eat, Enjolras?” he murmurs.

“You need to revise, Ferre, come on!” He wants to pull Combeferre back to their – _their_ – seats in the library, but he can’t move his feet. He stuck in this moment, the pair of them.

“When did you last _sleep_?”

“I think I’m in love with you.” And wow, that somehow answers Combeferre’s question because that was _really_ not what he’d meant to say. But there’s a hand in his and a heart that cares about him so much, and it’s all he can think about.

Combeferre’s worry-filled eyes have lightened, his face soft and filled with a kind of wonder. He leans down, resting his head on top of Enjolras’ and pulling him into a tight hug. “God, Enjolras. I. I wasn’t sure. In thought… I love you too.

Enjolras tilted his head up, his lips seeking to find Combeferre’s, and it’s like this was where he was always supposed to be.

Then his stomach rumbles.

Combeferre bursts out laughing, and Enjolras can feel himself start to pout. Combeferre tugs on his hand.

“Come on, let’s go find you some food.” Enjolras can’t help but glance back towards the library. There’s so much work he could be doing! But Combeferre pulls on his hand again, and he’d rather be here. Right here.

“It can be our first non-library date.” He smiles up, Combeferre, and Combeferre smiles down at him, and for the moment it’s like all the exams in the world never mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> Season's Greetings! Thank you for the prompt, I had a lot of fun writing it :) Hope you enjoyed <3


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